A Hard Day's Night
by casey0219
Summary: Mac, LiAnn, and Vic need to come off a stressful day - fluff and songfic.


Mac was beat, bushed, pooped, wiped out, beyond tired. If he'd been LiAnn, he would have plopped himself in a hot scented bath for two hours, then passed out in silk pj'd glamour. But Mac didn't do hot scented baths alone.

Nah. Besides, that would mean he'd have to walk all the way to the bathroom, fill the tub, strip off his clothes, get in the water, and then try not to fall asleep in the water. Too much effort.

Finally. There was the door to his apartment; just a few more steps, Mac, then you can collapse like an overburdened table. He made it, blearily dumping coat and shoes on the floor—but not forgetting to place his guns on the nearby table as he flopped himself on to the sofa. He was never too tired to remember caution.

Ouch. Oh, that was the stereo remote. Dig it out, turn on the unit. Ahh—the blues—Colin James. Mac had really gotten into the blues since he started working at the Agency. And it had nothing to do with Vic. Right.

He flicked to track four, not really in the mood for anything with a beat that had _any_ oopmh to it. Slow, gentle, soothing and one hundred percent pure melancholy, the words and the voice were enough to bring tears to Mac's eyes. What the hell, a guy was entitled to a good cry now and then, especially since he could relate to the Otis Redding words Colin was singing: "These arms of mine, they are lonely, lonely, and feeling blue ..." Except that they sounded so much better, so much deeper, when they were sung the way they were being sung. And they would have sounded just tacky if it had been Mac singing them. He knew; he'd tried.

He lay there, sniffling and almost enjoying feeling miserable. Not just tired, but pathetically self-sorry, and yep, depressed. No way Mac Ramsey was coming up with his standard clever quips tonight. No pouty smiles or smirks. No energy for even thinking of tomorrow's first dig of the day at Vic. That was usually something fun, something to look forward to.

He couldn't even be bothered momentarily wondering what the Director was up to after hours, thoughts which normally held _some_ bizarre appeal for at least a couple minutes. And, god, was he ever NOT up to thinking about LiAnn.

And, yet, he was. Damn that Colin James. Track four: "These Arms of Mine." Mac knew why he loved the song, and that _really_ depressed him. He loved its nuances, the simple words, so honest, so bloody true: "These arms of mine, they are yearning, yearning, and wanting you. And if you, would let me hold you, how grateful I would be ..."

Not that LiAnn was the answer. Mac knew that. But it was easier to want something you'd once had than to move on and do the hard work of deciding what it was you wanted and NEEDED now. So he pined for LiAnn.

Nah, be honest, Mac. You long for what you HAD with her. You want someone to hold, just as badly as Colin does, you're as lonely as he sounds. Damn, I'm so tired and depressed already and now I'm thinking about RELATIONSHIPS! Oh, there's the upper, Mac.

Out of the blue, Mac wondered what someone else would do in his place.

LiAnn and her bath. Nah, won't go there. Vic? Hmmm. The thought held interest. A down in the dumps Vic would be ... even more fun to pick on.

Maybe not; too easy. Mac hoped he'd grown beyond the temptation of getting his kicks taking shots where he could, just for the sake of it.

He thought back to Vic and the look on his face when LiAnn decided their relationship should move to a new "friendlier" stage. That was a bummed out Vic—and Mac remembered how pissed off _he'd_ been that _he_ felt for Vic. It didn't seem to matter that LiAnn was single again, so to speak. It just mattered that his partner, and, man, just admit it, his friend, was hurting.

Mac wondered how Vic got through it and managed to work with LiAnn as well as he did. Hell, he'd never really been engaged to her and he still got weird when alone with her.

Maybe Vic had something to teach him. Like where in this city he could have some decent fun. Do SOMETHING to take his mind off of feeling sorry for himself. That got old after a while.

Mac's mind wandered back to the music. Thoughts, so quick that so many could pass through his mind in the duration of poor Colin's musical venting. The man could make music. Play with emotions. They're the same thing.

Woah! Too deep, Mac. No, deep thoughts were NOT the answer to depression OR exhaustion. If he weren't so tired, Mac would've escaped into _doing_ something.

Shit. Doing something alone's not much fun, Mac, my boy. God, this is depressing. Aside from Vic and LiAnn, who the hell did he know to go out with?

Now Mac was really ready to crawl in bed and cry. Oh shit. Even more depressing—no one to hold him there.

"These arms of mine ...," Colin wailed. Good ole Colin, keeping me company here in the emotional trashcan. Mac heard a funny noise and realized he was whimpering.

That was so pathetically funny, Mac giggled. Whimpering? Giggling? What the heck was wrong with him?

Giggle. Chuckle. Mac felt out of control listening to himself chortling and then guffawing and laughing like a hyena on a high.

Hee hee. Ooh, even his hee hees were funny. Ouch, my stomach! Hee hee. Ha. Ouch. Whimper. And that set him off again.

Oh, man, my tummy—hee hee—ouch, ouch, whimper, argh, hee hee, ouch.

Mac felt lighter, like telling Colin to get over it, man, like he might be able to get off the couch—soon. All of a sudden, not having someone to hold on to, to hold him, didn't make him want to curl up on the floor and moan like a lonely puppy. It was something to look forward to, something he'd appreciate when it happened. Life wasn't so bad.

Life in the Agency was beyond most people's realm of belief or acceptance, but he had a life of some sort. A couple of good, if slightly screwed up (like he wasn't), partners, enough crazy co-workers to make sure he never got slow or lost his sense of humour, a boss who made life ... interesting. Even Jackie had her moments. And Dobrinsky gave him someone to feel _right_ about not liking.

Cool clothes, livable apartment. Sure, he was probably always under surveillance, had little chance to meet people beyond work, and had a family life out of "The Godfather."

Maybe he was getting too MUCH into the blues. Time to switch musical genres. Country? Hmph. Nooo, although Shania Twain _might_ help. Ah, that felt more like Mac.

Colin had moved on to other things. Mac figured he should, too. So, he cuddled closer into the couch, and fell asleep to the blues, with a smile on his face, leaving the watchers wondering what—or who—he was dreaming about.

"Mmmm ... 'lo?" "Good evening, sir! I'd like to inform you of our special rates on over 300 magazines. Subscribe to any one today and you'll receive a FREE set of WonderWear boxers!"

(...)

"You blasted, moronic, blithering dickhead! You woke me up from the best freaking dream of my life. A _hot_ dream, y'know?!" Mac managed to get this vitrolic spate out, albeit in Chinese. Fortunately.

Then he slammed the phone down on the table.

Man, oh man. THE hottest, most vivid dream of his entire life—ruined. He _had_ to get back to it, had to find that exquisiteness again. Mac cuddled back into the sofa, set his intent to return to his dream, focused on the last scene he remembered, and ordered himself to sleep.

Vic high-fived the snoozy doorman who let any thug in a Vic-punching mood get by. Today, Vic was too psyched to glower at the dufus. He sang his way to the elevator, letting it get really funky during the ride, jumped out of the car and struck a pose, then bee-bopped his way down the hall.

"I'm too sexy for this hall, too sexy for this hall ..."

Who of his acquaintances would believe Vic could let loose like this, that he knew every word to that song?

"... too sexy for this jacket,"—he threw his leather coat down à la Chippendales—"nah ... maybe not too sexy for this jacket!" Vic had bought it when he noted LiAnn's reaction as he tried it on in the store. She didn't fit in his life that way anymore, but the coat still did. The thought didn't even give him pause as he pretty much pranced around the apartment, opening windows, checking for messages (like, from who, Vic? Your family?!), and having a shower.

He liked the acoustics of the shower so much, he sang the "sexy song" twice, with all the moves. After so much gyrating and dancing, Vic was feeling slightly tired. Like when you're coming off a laughing jag.

The day had been ... so ... much. Non-stop action, non-stop adrenalin. He was hyped; Mac was zonked; LiAnn? She seemed to be her usual unflappable self, but Vic could read her. She needed downtime, alone. She was probably soaking in a hot tub, cup of cocoa at hand, box of Godivas readily reachable, with candlelight framing her face. Pretty picture, Vic.

How about the Director? _Shiver._ Not going there. Er, why not? You're all grown up. Don't think I'll ever be that grown up! You might surprise yourself, Vic, given the opportunity. And who's giving me the opportunity? Hmmm. Good point.

So, LiAnn's in the tub. You're lying in bed. Wanna listen to some music? Maybe later. Watch TV? Nah. There's only one show worth watching on Saturday night and, well, at least I have tapes. Sigh.

Vic.  
Vic?  
VIC?!

Whah? Whah? I'm up.

Do you realize what you were fading into dreamland thinking about?

Hey, who is that?

It's me, idiot. Yourself. I just wanted to bring to your attention what you were fantasizing about before I let it become a full-fledged dream.

Uhhh. It was _good_, that's all I remember. Verrry good. Oh, yeah, it was ... sigh. Can I go back to it now?

If you're cool with where it's going, sure. Wonder how you'll see it in the morning.

LiAnn wan't much into thinking deep thoughts, soul-searching thoughts, life-altering mental directions these days. She'd done enough of that over the last two years. First, the whole deal about leaving the Tangs tore her self-image and life apart. Then, Mac, up 'til then, the love of her life, had apparently died. She'd gone deep within herself to find the strength to carry on, alone. Really alone, with the only family she'd ever known oh, so not impressed with her survival.

Just when things were in some state of resolution, she'd met Vic. All the old stuff had come back, to be dealt with again as she sorted out how she felt about him and decided that Mac, being a loving and hopefully, evolved, ghost would want her to be happy and love again. Throw in working for the Agency and getting to "know" her co-workers, and LiAnn had had a lot to deal with.

And then Mac walked back in, tearing the hinges off the door to her life while he was at it. She'd sorted it out, dealt with it in her normal imperturbable manner. THEN, she'd turned the door upside down, painted it with stripes, and told Vic "it" was over. No more LiAnn "and so-and-so." Now, it was just LiAnn, only this time, it wasn't frighting; it was her choice. And then she started living.

Not that she really had a "life," as people defined the term these days. She hung out with two fantastic partners, who she'd already gone through the "more than partners" thing with, worked for a boss who worked for who-knew and was on what sort of trip, and most of the time, shoved LiAnn off to do the grunt work in the stacks, with ... Nathan. Oh, yeah, she had no life.

Thank god for bath oils and Godiva chocolates.

"Pffttt!" LiAnn blew the bubbles off her fingers so she could grab another chocolate from the strategically located box, right next to the mug of cocoa. Ummm umm, yum, ahhh ... She _could_ compare that taste, that feeling to a couple things, but why not just enjoy this chocolate? She took another and let this one melt in her mouth, idly wondering if it would melt quicker than normal because she was sitting in hot water. Hot, scented water. Surrounded by candles. Eating chocolate. Drinking cocoa. Alone.

Forgive me, father, for I have sinned: I want all this all for ME and only for ME.

Sigh. Wait. Something could be improved on here. Ah. She reached up and turned on the radio. Ahhhhhhhhh. Took another chocolate, eating this one in little tantalizing bites so it lasted ... and lasted, melted on to her fingers. She licked them off and didn't know whether to groan or laugh at the indulgence.

She deserved this. Anyone would after a day like today, but SHE really deserved this. Oh, let's not start thinking, LiAnn. Just _feel_. Oooh, like that. Bubbles tickled her toes, candlelight warmed her face, and chocolate ... well, need she say more?

Something in the music turned her senses from taste to hearing.

"And I need tender hands to hold me, I need tender hands tonight.  
Will you lay them on my shoulders?  
Will you lay them on my eyes?  
And I need tender hands to take me, all the way to paradise,  
And then, when it's over, I need tender hands to hold me through the night"

Oops. This _could_ lead her to depressing thoughts. Wait, LiAnn, I thought you decided thinking wasn't on the evening's action plan? Yeah, you're right. But I never said anything about fantasizing ...

LiAnn almost hurriedly finished the chocolates and the cocoa, blew out the candles, and got into her jammies. Silk jammies. There wasn't anything decadent she didn't deserve tonight. Uh huh. And that included good thoughts, happy thoughts, reeeee...laxing thoughts. She tuned off the light, making sure her gun was on the bedside table, as usual, and tumbled into the luxury of bed.

Already in a ... receptive ... frame of mind, her dreams were relaxing in a very stimulating sort of way.


End file.
